Word of God (2017) Movie Script

On Saturday the 26th April 1986...
...the Soviet nuclear power plant
Chernobyl exploded.
One week later, God's youngest
son wrote his very first poem.
It was the same day that God expected
a visit from his eldest son.
God's eldest son
had stayed away for several years.
I'm not afraid.
God wasn't afraid.
- Uff'?
- Mama hoped it would be a good day.
It'll be fine, right?
- Uffe, it will be fine.
- Yes, yes...
Your eldest son wants to make peace.
Isn't that a good thing?
And no alcohol on the table.
We respect that Mikkel doesn't drink.
No schnapps in the soup.
Will you love me
until death do us unite?
- Jens? Mikkel's coming home.
- Mama? Should a poem rhyme?
A poem? Ask Papa.
He knows everything about that.
Should a poem rhyme?
- Are you writing poems now?
- Should it rhyme?
A poem should have rhythm.
A poem
should almost be like a bloodbath.
A massacre of words killing one another.
A bottle cap against a record player.
Like a kiss from the angel of death.
- Or a quick fuck.
- Also if it's for a girl?
- Jens? Will you fetch Thomas?
- Why me?
- He's doing boyish things.
- Jens?
God's middle son hadn't been outside
for three months.
But God didn't know.
What's your record?
- What's the record?
- Seven forty-something.
- What's up?
- Mikkel's on his way from Aalborg.
How does God feel?
- He's cooking soup.
- Shit.
This is a freaking work of genius, Jens.
It's good.
But your handwriting is terrible.
- Gerd, where's my typewriter?
- Not now.
What the hell?
And on that Saturday,
God saw his typewriter again.
In his younger days, God wanted
to be a writer. It never happened.
- Who hid it there?
- Why should I hide it?
God became a psychologist
and worked at the city hospital.
And the typewriter disappeared
in Mama's Swedish storage chest.
This thing has demonic powers.
- It's just Mama's old storage chest.
- They're already here!
Trousers, Uff'!
Shouldn't we go inside, Mikkel?
- Do you smell it?
- It wasn't me.
- He's made soup.
- That's lovely. I'd love some.
It's his army soup.
Made on gas and old rusty military
equipment from the fifth regiment.
But it's edible, right?
There's triumph soup and fear soup.
Today, it's fear soup.
Mikkel, what's this really about?
- Lots of things.
- Such as?
He can't stand churches.
Free churches, in particular.
Why didn't you tell me before we drove
all the way from Aalborg?
And he can't stand
overweight people either.
- Do you think I'm overweight?
- Not at all.
You look fine to me.
I'm sorry, Maria. Let's leave.
No! Let's go inside, Mikkel.
- The soup's made on gas?
- Yes. My own gas cylinder.
- I see.
- Gas is the trick.
But the recipe will only be released
when I'm on my deathbed.
- To whom?
- To the person that deserves it.
How about that. Eh, Mikkel?
- We don't have any vegetables.
- No, Uff'. Not today.
It's okay, Mama.
- What about Thomas, Jens?
- He had to beat his record.
What record?
- You know I don't drink anymore.
- How would I know after three years?
But in this house, we drink beer.
- Let's taste the soup.
- Cheers.
Well, it's a lovely soup.
Lovely? It's vigorous.
It's powerful.
And it doesn't make you fat.
- Hey there.
- Hi.
- There's my second son.
- Did you beat your record?
- You might wonder what he does.
- Yes. What do you do, Thomas?
Thomas is taking
a higher preparatory course.
Oh well. All right.
That's what he's doing.
I guess I'll learn
what that is one day.
- You met at the hairdresser school?
- Yes.
And what does one study there?
Weekly magazines? Ladies' magazines?
Hello there!
The reinforcements have arrived.
Hello, Uffe.
We've brought reinforcements.
Why are those fruitcakes here today?
- They are my friends.
- No, Uffe. They are your patients.
Do you need reinforcements
to see your son?
"If there were no penal code,
he wanted to use his biggest car..."
Here's Swedish buns and coffee.
There you go.
"...use his biggest car as an axe
and kill me, my wife and my child."
Sofus Schandorff, ladies and gentlemen.
Ingemar Glans.
I'm Uffe's bravura piece.
At the nuthouse, they gave me pills.
Then I emptied the medicine glass
and dropped dead. Dead as a doornail.
And there sure as hell
wasn't any divine tunnel light.
I ended up in an ambulance.
But did you survive?
Yes. And they sent me over to Uffe.
You know what he gave me?
- No. What?
- Literature.
Uffe doesn't give you medicine
if you feel bad.
How do they feel about literature
in the Carola Sect, Maria?
I can't tell what
the Carola Sect feels.
But it's lovely
what you do with literature.
Does Miss Carola know
of the magical power of words?
Well, she must have read the big book.
Jens, read your poem.
We didn't come to eat your shit soup
and listen to shit poems.
Do you even care why we are here?
Mikkel and I are getting married.
We're getting married, damn it!
In a free church and shit. Move.
Here's an invitation.
But you don't need to come.
You can snuff it for all I care.
Thanks for now, Uffe.
And for your information, our church
is called "The Path of Life".
Jesus is to me
what gas is to you.
Call Mikkel and tell him that we
are looking forward to his wedding.
According to God, your sex life dies
after seven years of marriage.
It's Saturday.
So God and Mama
had agreed to love each other...
...on Tuesdays and Saturdays.
Whether the desire was there or not.
What happens
if you get rid of the pills?
Then I'll panic.
- And if you keep them?
- Then I won't panic.
So those chemical bastards
control your life.
Do you want that, Josefine?
Is that okay?
- I can't.
- You can't? Or won't?
- It's not that simple.
- Yes, it is.
Uffe, can I talk to you?
- Can it wait?
- No, it had better be now. Emergency.
I'll be right back, Josefine.
- Malignant?
- Yes. And aggressive.
Then remove the bastard.
Just get rid of it.
I'm sorry, Uffe. I can't. It's spread.
I see. How long do I have?
Six months.
Perhaps less if we don't do something.
- Chemotherapy.
- Life-prolonging chemotherapy, yes.
- It's poison.
- That's one opinion.
- That's my opinion.
- Yes, it is.
But cancer is not a mental illness.
What would
a physician know about that?
I have something here that I don't
have. If you know what I mean.
It's a brand new drug from the USA
that we're testing off the record.
Special connections.
I won't be
a goddamn American guinea pig.
- Uffe?
- Yes?
If there's something you want
to get done, you had better do it now.
Why are you home? Uff'?
When God was a little boy
and life hurt...
...he would hide
in his Arabic corner.
Here, he was safe from the evils
of the world.
It was still like that.
I'm a reference point in a suburb.
Why won't he take his medicine?
Dad is in his Arabic corner.
He just needs to consider it.
- What about me?
- What about you?
If he's going to be dying here
for six months?
- Why don't you go back to school?
- I can't, pet.
Uff', the boys don't understand
what is happening. Neither do I.
Then I'll tell you what's going to
happen. I'm going to Jailhouse.
Who said I'm going to give up?
When God went to Jailhouse, he would
normally stay away for two days.
There he met with the whores,
the pickpockets and the rowdies.
At Jailhouse,
God felt like a human being.
At Jailhouse, God was just Uffe.
I cured a schizophrenic sailor.
And I've shared a taxi with a singer.
Jens? What about my second son?
Eh? Isn't he going with you?
Isn't he going to school?
Gerd! Gerd.
- Dad is home.
- What if he finds me here?
Maybe you could try
to leave the house a little.
You can't lie here all your life.
You understand that, don't you?
The second son
had dropped out of school.
He was in his weightless phase,
afraid to disappear from the Earth.
He called it agoraphobia.
He had read it in one of God's books.
- The door.
- I'm not expecting anyone.
Hold your horses.
- What's this?
- Says who?
Pia's mother. Pia from your son's class.
"Will you love me
until death do us unite as mould...
...lying in our maggot graves,
feasting upon each other?"
Yes. It's good.
Jens attacked Pia with this.
It's mental violence.
No. It's actually a very good poem.
Pia is 14. She shouldn't be traumatized
with thoughts of worms and death.
This, Mrs Pia's mother,
are life's great questions.
But you don't discuss that at home?
Life's great questions?
This, Mrs Pia's mother, is great art.
Are you listening, Mrs Pia's mother?
We are all going to die.
So we write poems, so we can bear
the fact that we are going to die.
Does nothing stir within you?
Do you lead the life you dream about?
Those who are afraid to dream
are afraid to live. It makes them ill.
You are ill.
Yes. I'm ill.
And very soon, I'm going to die.
I should have been a writer.
Written novels.
But the words are now a growth,
eating me up from inside.
You need help. A lot of help.
- Then help me.
- There must be medicine.
There is no medicine for a wasted life.
Or damn words that get stuck.
- Go home and write the damn words.
- I can't.
You can't or you won't?
Give Jens my best
and say thanks.
Thank you, Jens.
I am going to die.
Something got stuck inside me.
Something wicked has invaded my body.
But... I have decided...
...to fight the evil
with the strongest medicine around.
- Words.
- Words.
I will fight the devilry with the most
dangerous weapon in existence.
- Words.
- Words.
But I can't do it alone.
I need you.
You must be my soldiers.
You must protect me.
- Protect you against what, Uffe?
- Against myself.
Yes. Against myself.
Against this. The fear, the anxiety,
the devilry, the madness. My family!
This moment...
It's a holy moment.
Can you feel it?
Feel this moment.
Hold on to this moment.
Now, Uffe Blendstrup declares
that we are at war!
Soldiers! Get up.
Rise. March!
Every morning at 8:00,
you will come here in pairs.
- Make sure that I write. Understood?
- Yes.
God had declared war on death.
His plan made the house tremble
and moved the furniture.
Mama's storage chest had swallowed
God's typewriter and so it had to go.
It was Mama's only
piece of furniture from Sweden.
Swedish Devil. Devil!
The peace of God's kingdom
was endangered.
And the second son soothed
his fear by beating more records.
It's 8 o'clock.
This is the News. The consequences
of the nuclear accident in Chernobyl...
...will be much more severe than
the Soviet authorities initially stated.
American experts believe that more than
300 people in the area will die soon...
...and more than 10,000
will suffer from radiation damage.
- We're also affected by this.
- Shit.
The radioactive waste from the accident
has been detected in cow's milk...
When God was young and wanted
to be a writer, he lived in Paris.
He bought a writer's jacket
from Hemmingway's old tailor.
But the words were stuck...
...so God went home to become
a reference point in a suburb.
I'm leaving now. Mama?
Hello! Here's the writing guard.
- We have pastry from the baker's.
- I see.
- Let's go, Uffe.
- Hush.
Mein Kampf
- What does that mean?
- Beer.
A family chronicle
What is it, Uffe?
Mrs Blendstrup?
The writer wants to know,
if you could please stop doing that.
Tell the writer
that the roof has Chernobyl plague.
I must remove it.
Otherwise, we'll get ill like him.
Uffe, the roof has plague
and emits dangerous radiation.
Could you respect that "Mein Kampf"
takes place between 8 am and 1 pm?
Fine. Then you can fix the roof,
when you are done playing Hitler.
Daddy is at war,
so I'm going out for a while.
For how long?
Until the fruitcakes are gone,
so I can have my house back.
What about me?
Maybe you should tell your dad
about this...
Yes. The agoraphobia.
- Bye.
- Gerd?
I dreamt that I woke up
with my mom's penis in my mouth.
Don't you think
that's an Oedipus complex?
Mrs Blendstrup?
A letter for you. It's from Sweden.
I see. Thank you.
Mama once knew a Swedish man.
The only one apart from God.
Now, the Swedish man had sent her
a letter more than 25 years later.
His wife was dead, and he was alone.
He just wanted to know
if Gerd Lillian was alive and well.
Will radioactive fallout in the grass
affect the Danish dairy cows?
Well, Danish dairy cows will eat
the radioactive grass.
You can't see
if something is radioactive.
It's not like the grass turns grey.
So it's a hidden danger, but you can
detect it using advanced equipment.
Thank you,
nuclear physicist Peter H. Larsen.
And here's the weather report:
Due to a high pressure...
...summer has arrived.
Up to 30 degrees Celsius today.
The heat wave will probably last
a few more days.
So if you don't necessarily need
to be in the sun, stay in the shade.
The roof still has the plague
- How long did you hide here?
- A couple of days.
No. It's longer than that.
- A week? A month? Three months?
- What does it matter?
- Does your mother know?
- It doesn't matter.
This is my house. I worked
and paid for every single brick.
So I want to know what the hell is
going on. Nobody can slack here!
Get dressed and get out in the garden.
The roof has plague. It must be
cleaned, or we'll all die of cancer.
According to doctor Gerd.
No. I'm not going up there.
Why not?
Because I have agoraphobia.
I see.
Well, well.
Do you know anything about
what a phobia is?
Do you know what a writer is?
Just get to work.
Use your body.
Use your strength.
Use your body, Thomas.
Use your strength, Thomas.
All your strength.
Use your whole body.
The whole body!
Right, left. Right, left!
Right, left.
Uffe, we need some clear guidelines.
Let's call it a day.
Uff'? Uffe?
We need to talk.
Let's give him an oxygen mask.
An oxygen mask...
Yes, let's do that.
Thomas is under observation
until tomorrow. I'll sleep in his room.
It's Tuesday.
Yes. You sent your son to the hospital
with a nervous breakdown...
...and you expect a reward?
I tried to get him up, but someone
let him lie down a bit too long.
- You ought to have seen his problems.
- Well, you kept him hidden.
It's so damn important for you
to save all the other fruitcakes.
- But you hit your son.
- I just woke him up.
The way you woke Mikkel up?
You are a miserable little man, Uffe.
Even now when you are lying here dying.
For the first time in years,
Tuesday was cancelled in God's house.
And for the first time, Mama had been
writing a letter to God all night.
It was not a long letter.
And it was not a loving letter.
And it was written in Swedish.
How is Thomas?
Before you start,
I want you to do three things.
Pick up Thomas and apologize to him.
Two: Accept
medical treatment for your illness.
I don't do medicine.
Three: Call Mikkel...
...and tell him that we
are looking forward to his wedding.
- I won't go to church.
- Yes, you will. And you will behave.
That was four things. Four things.
In return,
you don't have to make a speech.
A father makes a speech for his son.
Mikkel wants his brothers
to make the speech.
- Fine. Jens can do it. He is a genius.
- What about me?
You will make the speech
at your big brother's wedding.
Three things.
The one thing God feared was...
...when the Swedish demons
danced in Mama's brown eyes.
You can do it, honey. You can do it.
I can't go with you.
I have to go to school.
No. You need to go with me.
Today, the U.S. detonated
its 774th atomic bomb...
...since the very first one in 1945.
The nuclear test was conducted
in the Nevada Desert...
Step aside, pet.
By doing this, the U.S.
is provoking the entire world...
...the news agency Tass.
And now to
the World Championships in Mexico...
Well, Thomas...
I hope you are man enough
to accept an apology.
Could the clever people help you?
You got some medicine, I presume?
Just remember
that I tried to apologize.
My father was
My father was mayor
and he hit us
The pain made us cry
May we hear it?
"My father was mayor in Randers.
He hit us Wednesdays and Saturdays."
"The pain made us cry."
"He wanted a statue in the square."
"He didn't get it."
Sentimental rubbish.
- Uff'.
- I apologized.
Yes, I know.
Do you know that your 18-year old son
hasn't had his sexual debut yet?
His friends have tried it.
All of them have tried it.
- Gerd...
- No, it's not Tuesday. Listen to me.
I think his fear and phobia
have something to do with it.
We can't help him with his sexual debut.
- Yes. You can.
- I can?
There are girls who can help
sexually frustrated boys.
You have
such a girl in your therapy group.
If you help me...
Or if you help Thomas with this...
- Then it's Tuesday again.
- Aye aye, miss.
- I'm going to the hospital with Dad.
- Okay.
- He's decided to receive treatment.
- Okay, cool.
Jens is at the beach with Pia.
Have a good time.
- Everything is good, right?
- Yes.
One piece of boy virginity,
bought and paid for.
Thank you, Uff'. Thank you.
- Do you know your dad saved my life?
- No.
One, two, three...
Cheers, Uffe.
Shit. Jens?
What did you do in my room?
Did you jack off on my bed?
I fucked Josefine!
- But it was a quickie.
- In my bed?
You know she's a hooker?
I know
she's one of God's writing guards.
When she's not spreading her legs
at Hotel La Tour on Randersvej.
Big deal.
But you used a condom, right?
- Otherwise, you should get checked.
- For what?
For AIDS, moron!
You're dead.
Where were you?
I was at the playground.
- No, the beach.
- No, the playground.
Have you had anal penetration?
- How many men have you had sex with?
- No-one...
Why would you have gotten AIDS, then?
- I got raped by a hooker.
- Raped? How?
By someone
from Hotel La Tour on Randersvej.
- Do you have a name?
- Josefine.
- Just Josefine?
- She's one of Dad's writing guards.
We'll take a blood test.
You'll have an answer in three months.
The hearing
is a proof of rising panic.
Now, it seems that AIDS
is spreading from the ghetto...
...we thought it would stay within,
to other parts of the population.
- Not just homosexuals?
- No.
But via junkies working as hookers
it spreads to heterosexuals.
- Is this a case of mass panic?
- Yes.
You could say it's exacerbated
by irresponsible people...
Thank you.
- Jens, can we hear it now?
- Hear what?
The speech
to your big brother and his bride.
- I don't think it's any good.
- Of course it is.
You are a genius.
Right, Uff'?
- You can do it, Jens.
- Come on, Jens.
Now, you are married,
the two of you who love each other.
When you have kids and grandkids,
I'll be the dead uncle.
I ate from the flower of sin,
as poisonous as tobacco.
Withered and sweet.
Good luck from Jens Dead.
That was very strange, Jens.
That's not good at all.
Once I was lonely and dizzy
I fumbled around in my life
My heart was without hope
My spine was like a fluttering rush
I sought refuge in the bottle
I was crawling up a wall
My plans came to nothing
Whilst death set my watch
I have found my path in life
A path as wide as an ark
My sins are now forgiven
By the man who ploughs my field
- It's true that Heaven exists
- It's true!
- It's true that God exists
- It's true!
- It's true that His son is a master
- It's true!
- We obey His holy commands
- It's true!
Now I know that Heaven exists
Now I know that God exists
Now I know His son is a master
We obey His holy commands
Dear Mikkel. Dear Maria.
I'm not going to make a speech.
I promised my spouse that.
That's how the men are in this family.
We obey our wives.
But I'll do it anyway. Because the men
in the family are also like that.
- Just so you know, Maria.
- I already knew. Right, Mikkel?
It's no secret, Mikkel, that you and I
have, at times, had our issues.
I was probably the problematic one.
If you ask my wife, that is!
I tried making you into a heathen.
That went wrong!
You chose your own path in life.
And that is good.
You must choose your own way in life.
You must choose your own way in life.
However, I would like to give you
some fatherly advice.
Don't love in good times and bad times.
Do it Tuesday and Saturday!
It works. Just ask my wife!
Thanks, father-in-law.
- Thanks, Dad.
- Don't mention it.
As my father, Uffe, said:
We have had our issues.
I found solace in a bottle.
But I don't do that anymore.
- Thanks to Jesus and your prayers.
- Hear, hear!
Thanks to that, I found
the light and the path. So thank you.
My father has a serious illness.
So I want us all
to say a prayer for Uffe.
No, Gerd.
Our Lord Jesus, who never
ignored people's cries for help.
I ask of you: Choose the light for Uffe
when all he sees is darkness.
Help him up when he falls,
and deliver him from his illness.
No, Gerd.
I think it's time we go home.
Just across the table from me,
a lady is eating.
She's bellowing with laughter.
But she's also an unhappy lady.
And a fat lady.
She once entered the holy church.
And now she's here...
...with her bogus faith,
just getting fatter, fatter and fatter.
Just like the rest of you.
You're sitting here ballooning.
Because you're soothing yourselves
with Jesus and lemon mousse.
You can't open up and love each other.
Love each other, damn it!
Not that fool
who's hanging on the cross over there.
Damn it all!
Damn it!
It's true that Heaven exists
It's true that God exists
It's true that His son is a master...
It was fortunate that God was dying.
Or they would have
killed him in Aalborg.
But God didn't agree.
Well, I'm just being honest.
God refused to give up.
He still believed
in the magic power of words.
And what about Mama? She no longer
knew what she was hoping for.
- Cured?
- Yes. He's cured.
So he is in good health?
Just like that?
No, thank you.
A miracle?
Not in our view.
We check the patient
and make a diagnosis.
And then we treat the patient,
based on specific knowledge.
Isn't that right, Uffe?
I hope you are grateful now.
I thank my willpower.
Yes, your willpower is great.
But do remember to say thank you
to Mikkel and his congregation.
They prayed for you.
I've healed myself.
And I will not thank anybody.
Not Mikkel and his holy hypocrites
or some mumbo-jumbo medicine.
I will not thank anybody. My writing
healed me. You understand?
Sure. Whatever.
- So what happens now?
- I will celebrate it.
With the people who believed in me.
- What are you doing?
- Going out.
- You are doing great, eh?
- Valium.
- Thomas...
- Yes, pet? What is it?
I have plaque on my tongue.
That's from AIDS.
- You think so?
- Show me.
Yes... Disgusting.
I have plaque on my tongue.
- It's AIDS.
- No, not now, Jens.
You must talk to your dad about that.
- I have plaque on my tongue.
- The whole world has plaque.
It can kill you in seven years.
- Plaque?
Sausage poisoning
can kill you in three days.
Jens Blendstrup is dead.
15 + 7 = 22 years
that Dad must bring in the chest.
Gerd. Gerd!
The youngest son knew
that his blood was poisoned.
That his body would soon
be eaten by worms and mites.
Because the youngest son
had fucked the angel of death.
I'm sleeping.
I want to apologize.
But there was one thing he didn't know.
It was supposed to have been
the other one. Your brother.
You father asked me to help him,
Thomas, with his first time.
That's what I do. Or did. Once.
He understood it now:
God had sent the angel of death.
- Have you been tested?
- For what?
AIDS, damn it!
- Murderer.
- Well...
Anyway, I'm sorry...
It was God
who killed his own son.
"Have you placed mockery on
the army table? Then don't look back."
"There were two aunts in Love,
who were exasperating their Delphias."
Bravo, Uffe. Bravo!
- Bravo.
- Bravo.
It's crap.
It's fucking crap.
Yes. Jens is right.
It's fucking crap.
What are you looking at?
What the hell are you looking at?
Fools. Fruitcakes.
Sycophants. Yes-men.
Get out of my house. Go home!
Go home. Be gone. Out. Get out of here!
Why is happiness so capricious?
And why is joy so short-lived?
Life is often so senselessly hard...
Gerd? I'm not afraid.
Gerd? Fruitcakes. Out. Out!
Gerd? Gerd!
Breakfast rolls.
Where's Mama?
Mama said that Dad had
to bring in the chest himself.
- And then?
- And then she left.
- And she left?
- She left.
Thomas, call Mikkel.
Call him yourself.
- This is Mikkel.
- It's Uffe.
- Uffe Blendstrup. Your father.
- What's happened?
- Is Gerd at your place?
- Did she run away?
- Well, it would seem so.
- Then find her.
Did you kill her?
On Saturday the 25th of October 1986...
...six months after
the nuclear disaster at Chernobyl...
...God's kingdom suffered a meltdown.
A chain reaction
triggered by a poem.
If the youngest son
hadn't written his poem to Pia...
...God wouldn't have found
his typewriter.
And Mama's storage chest
wouldn't have been thrown out.
And the second son
wouldn't have fallen from the roof.
And no-one would've gotten AIDS.
And Mama wouldn't have disappeared.
God was right.
A poem was like a bloodbath, a
massacre of words killing each other.
A quick fuck.
A bottle cap on a record player.
It's the police.
The two of us don't need to talk.
I'm only here to support my brothers.
Jens. Tell him there are beers
in the fridge and soup in the pot.
- There are beers and soup, he says.
- No thanks.
No thanks, he says.
I heard him.
Our Lord Jesus.
Aid our family in this hour.
Just stop, Mikkel.
If Gerd and Uffe are lost,
show them the right path...
Stop it. No-one here needs that shit.
- That shit saved my life.
- But it doesn't work here.
We prayed for you at the wedding,
and you were healed.
Lord, give us a sign...
Oh, shut up!
Well done, Thomas.
- Why is Mama's storage chest out here?
- It has demonic powers.
Who says that?
And you guys believe that?
Why didn't you just take it inside?
We need some vegetables.
What about God?
We have French fries.
And fried chicken.
And spring rolls.
Mikkel is drinking beer again.
And here's yesterday's soup.
When Mama hugs you,
you can feel her boobs.
You can feel them for a long time
after the hug itself.
Has Uffe ever hugged you?
Maybe no-one ever gave Uffe a hug.
- Maybe Uffe needs a hug.
- Let me out now.
That's hard with him lying there.
Let me out now.
Well, Uffe...
Now, you're standing up.
You will get a hug now. Are you ready?
We're giving you a hug now, Uffe.
Can you feel it? Uffe?
Stop that nonsense.
I want out now.
Enough. I need to get out now.
Open it.
Damn it!
Jens, I need to get out now.
You can do it.
The others can't, but you can.
Jens! Let me out right now!
Wretched brats.
I'll kill you!
What on earth?
I never want to know what happened.
And no-one will ever ask me
where I went. No-one.
Never ever. Is that understood?
We are a family.
It's a good thing to be a family.
Negative. HIV negative.
- Cleared.
- You mean healthy?
- How does science explain this?
- Well, we can't.
Such things occur.
You know, shit happens.
It can sort of hide inside the body,
and then it resurfaces.
How long do I have left?
It's Tuesday.
When the moon rises in the sky
And looks in through the window
From time to time I get pensive
And play softly on my lute
And you are happy, clear moon
Who can be so high above the Earth
And just observe
And just observe.
My boy...
The second son.
I don't care.
I'm going to die anyway.
Do get going with the ladies.
Or men.
And lose the pills.
Five bouillon cubes.
Bouillon cubes...
Per one liter of water.
500 grams of whole onions.
With the skin.
Whole onions with the skin.
Heat it on gas.
And schnapps.
Thanks, Dad.
I'm sure you'll do well.
I am...
There's something I never told you
that I want you to know.
Every day I've gotten up,
and before I've woken up the boys...
...I have had some alone time.
And I've said a prayer.
And that prayer has helped me.
So that I had the strength to love you
all those years.
So whether
you want to accept it or not...
...God has been
a big and important part of your life.
Now you know.
Ladies and gentlemen.
"No man is an island."
"Entire of itself."
"Every man is a piece of the continent."
"If a clod be washed away by the sea...
...as well as if a promontory were,
as well as any manner of thy friends...
...or of thine own were..."
- Let's express our thanks.
- Yes.
The great reference point
has left his suburb.
There are
no more Tuesdays and Saturdays.
The Arabian corner is abandoned.
The last bouillon cube
has been stacked.
It is Uffe who is dead.
What is left
is just the anger, the fear...
...the longing, the madness...
...and the dream.
From now on, the rest is up to us.
Whether we want it or not.
Who gave you the jacket?
- God did.
- Pet.